


Only on Channel Four

by Smallswritesstuff



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mystery, WandaVision AU, more characters/tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smallswritesstuff/pseuds/Smallswritesstuff
Summary: Klaus smiles fondly. “Don’t worry about it, Kitty-Kat,” he says. He takes his husband’s hands and gazes contentedly into his eyes. “I have everything under control.”A post-s2 Klave WandaVision AU of sorts.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 22
Kudos: 60





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> (Technicallyyyy this is not an AU because all the events of the show are still canon in this world. The main plot of this takes place post-s2.) 
> 
> So I actually have a plan for this one!! 
> 
> The last few chapters will be adjusted based on what we learn in the season finale, but since this is a different plot and superpower mechanic from WandaVision, I have most of it worked out. 
> 
> Still, there will definitely be spoilers to be gleaned about WandaVision in this. And very little update consistency. Be warned of both.
> 
> Aight. Here we go, ladies.

“What do you mean, ‘steal his footprints’?” Klaus asks. “Like, cut the soles off of John Wayne’s shoes?”

Dave chuckles a little as they walk down the pavement. On this, their second leave together, they’d made a point of taking time alone, out of the hotel and away from the rest of the guys, to see Saigon. They’re towards the edge of the city now, passing sleepy shops and restaurants on the empty sidewalk. It’s much quieter out here, with just a low hum of car engines in the distance and echoes of fuzzy radio music drifting out from various shop windows. The sunset has tinted the world a rosy gold.

“How have you not seen that  _Lucy_ episode?” Dave asks.

“I haven’t because I’m not  _eighty,”_ Klaus says. “Future. Remember?”

Dave shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I’d think that one would be a classic.”

Klaus squints. Wait a minute. _“_ _You_ watched  _Lucy?”_

“We used to watch it as a family, when I was young,” Dave explains. “I was fine with it. It was my sister Sarah who really got a kick out of it. She was probably smitten with Desi, now that I think about it.”

Klaus nods. He’s caught bits and pieces of the show through cultural osmosis, of course. It‘s cutesy, and goofy, and romantic, and so repulsively domestic. But he understands the appeal well enough. It‘s nostalgic. It‘s safe. It‘s the kind of show that deals out happy endings in spades.

Historically, Klaus hasn’t cared much for happy endings. Too shallow and cheesy. Too naïve. 

“So did you grow up dreaming of that kind of thing, then?” He asks. “The 9 to 5? The doting spouse? The tidy one-bedroom?”

Dave shakes his head. “I didn’t have the nerve to dream about much of anything back then.”

Klaus hums understandingly. “All that would sound pretty boring to Kid Klaus anyway,” he replies. “You know I’d prefer a much more dangerous existence.”

Dave smirks. “If that’s the case...”

There’s a narrow alleyway coming up on their left, splitting the deserted street. Dave grabs Klaus by the arm and drags him into the shadow. 

Klaus yelps and giggles before he is pulled by the collar of his shirt into a deep kiss. Then another. 

Afterwards, Klaus opens his eyes, breathless. Dave is pressed against the wall, a finger lovingly tracing the line of Klaus’s jaw. The brightness of his blue eyes cuts through the murk of the shade.

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you, Katz?” He laughs. 

Dave’s eyes crinkle with a smile. He just looks at him for a beat.

“You,” he answers softly.

Klaus can’t help but go a little stiff at that. This is all still so new. This isn’t supposed to happen to people like him. He‘s not supposed to fall head-over-heels for some pretty blond Southern Gentleman. And he’s sure as hell not supposed to hear these sugary-sweet sentiments straight out of a goddamn rom-com. 

“Really?” Klaus jokes. “As I recall, I haven’t gotten the opportunity to top quite yet, but if that’s what you’re asking for...”

Dave decidedly shuts him up with one more kiss, gentle and slow. Klaus happily takes it, and the warmth and soothing that accompanies it.

Dave pulls back first. “You...” He cradles Klaus’s face in his hands, holding him as close as he can. “You make me want to dream.”

Klaus isn’t ready to admit it to himself. Because on so many levels, this isn’t supposed to happen. This is terrifyingly foreign territory, with the foggiest future ahead of them. But for the first time in a long, long while, Klaus wants to dream too. 

Maybe a happy ending doesn’t sound so naïve after all.

...

...

...

_ “The following program is brought to you in part by KrakenArt Steak Knives. When it comes to artisan cutlery, we always aim for Number One! KrakenArt Steak Knives.” _

...

...

...

_ Back from commercial in 5... 4... 3... 2... _

A fluttering of strings and woodwinds. Lights-up on the interior of a cozy monochrome house in the quaint neighborhood of Lakeshore Hills.

“Klaus, I’m home!”

“Be there in a minute!”

Dave enters the dim grey of their living room, illuminated only by scattered white flames, burning from various candleholders around the space. He sets down his briefcase and tugs off his coat.

“Not the darn electric bill again,” he grumbles as he sets it on the rack.

“No, no, not at all!” Klaus shouts.

He suddenly emerges from the bedroom door with a radiant grin, in a long, flowing shawl. A shining band of silk is wrapped around his short hair. He holds his arms out grandly as he walks into the room. “This is all meant to give me a little more sparkle and pizazz.” He stands proudly before Dave. “What do you think?”

“Darlin’,” Dave says sweetly, holding Klaus’s shoulders, “you’ve got  _plenty_ of sparkle.” Then, a frown drops onto his face. “... _And_ plenty of explaining to do.”

Klaus pulls away and paces the room, gesturing freely. “Oh, I was just thinking - because money has been tight since the move - why not start a new career in our new town, doing something I’m  _actually good_ at?” He indicates the candleholders and the decorative cloth draped across the coffee table. “Elliot helped me get all this set up. Don’t worry, I’ll clear it out at night. But during the day, while you’re at the office, I can be taking clients here to get us some extra cash. Séances and such.”

Dave brings a hand to his forehead. “Are you hearing yourself?” He asks, exasperated. “I thought we decided to keep your powers a secret.”

“And we did! We did!” Klaus assures him with a swatting motion. “Calm yourself, Dave. This isn’t  life-or-death.”

“Klaus...”

“People pay mediums to do magic shows,” Klaus continues, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “To bamboozle them. Or comfort them. But at the end of the day, they don’t  really believe it’s all true. I’ll just be the most convincing one in the business.” He chuckles in self-satisfaction and leans back into his seat. “No one will ever find out how deep it goes.” 

Dave hurries over to the couch and sits beside him. “This is ridiculous,” he maintains. “What about all this stuff? The decorations? How much is this costing us?”

Sighing, Klaus reaches into the pocket of his vest. “See, I  _knew_ you’d fuss about it.” He pulls forth a neatly-folded stack of bills. “That’s why I didn’t tell you before I could make a test run.” He passes the cash to Dave. “Did the first session with Kitty down the street this afternoon. Look how much it made us.”

“You’ve already done one?!” Dave demands. He takes the bills and shakes his head. “Klaus. You’ve got to be the craziest, cheekiest, most irrational, most impossible—”

His train of thought sputters to a stop when he starts counting the money in his hands. He falls completely silent.

“I bet you  _that_ could cover an electricity bill or two, huh?” Klaus prods. 

“Holy smokes,” Dave mutters weakly, eyes wide.

“What was it you were saying?” Klaus teases. “‘Craziest, cheekiest...’”

“...’Smartest, brightest, darlingest, most brilliant man I’ve ever met’,” Dave finishes. He leans over and plants a celebratory kiss on Klaus’s cheek.

“Hmm. Glad that we agree.”

Dave sets the cash on the table. “Alright,” he surrenders. “I don’t have a problem with it. We just... have to be careful.”

“Careful is what I do best,” Klaus boasts.

“I mean it,” Dave pushes anxiously. “What if someone powerful comes by? Someone from the government? The FBI? A _priest_?”

Klaus just smiles fondly. 

“Don’t worry about it, Kitty-Kat,” he says. He takes his husband’s hands and gazes contentedly into his eyes. “I have everything under control.”


	2. Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

He tries to turn in for bed early. It’s the only thing he can think of to do, after another dogshit Day One. But the inside of his head is so goddamn loud. And not just from the bitter spirits who haunt the moldy, fluorescent-lit halls of Lakeshore Hills Rehabilitation. 

It’s nearly midnight when he descends from his bunk, tugs on his fluffy jacket, and heads out for a common area. 

Two other men are out here, probably looking for some peace and quiet as well, reading books in plush armchairs about ten feet apart from each other. A single row of ceiling lights is on, buzzing and flickering with a sickly shade of off-white. The rest of the room - the ping pong table, the couch before the tv, the sad little kitchen area - is in darkness.

He goes and fills up a bowl with the same generic brown cereal they always have here, when all the good ones are out. No peppy, perky attendant in a cardigan is around to enforce the rule that he can’t. He settles on the couch enveloped in shadow and slowly picks at the bowl.

His mind aches. His skin burns. His senses are screaming. He’s gone through this stage of detox enough times already that he’d think he’d be over it by now. But every time he starts this, it’s like his body is taking ruthless revenge for his most recent binge.

This is his second time in Lakeshore. The first time, Diego had all but thrown him into his car at pick-up. The whole way there, he’d teased and pestered and jabbed at him left and right. How he needed to eat better. How he needed to exercise. How he needed a haircut. How stupid those new hand tattoos looked. 

The second time, there was a different look in his eye. Duller and more distant. After meeting up on the corner at the time they’d agreed on, he’d just opened the passenger door and waited. He hardly said a single word on the drive, grunting out curt answers to Klaus’s questions and keeping his gaze squarely on the road. 

It was like Klaus wasn’t worth the effort of speaking. Like he’d gotten the privilege of honest conversation taken away, by continuing to be the way that he was. 

Another tremor runs through his body. He coils in on himself and clutches his coat.

No one is ever going to understand. Not if Diego didn’t. Not if this patchwork quilt of doctors and Jesus Freaks and retired camp counselors didn’t. Not if Ben had just stood there on the street, glaring as the car started up and rolled off, and hadn’t shown back up since. 

And then there’s the ghosts. He can practically feel their hands clawing at him, their indecipherable whimpers and pleas gradually filling the air like poisonous fumes.

There’s a blinding flash on the screen ahead of him, and a burst of music. It only aggravates his headache, a sharp stab in the frontal lobe. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees an older guy in pajamas sitting next to him. He must’ve just turned on TV Land. It’s a little too bright. It’s a little too loud. But soon, the spirits‘ whispers nearly overpower it. Klaus shuts his eyes and drags his hands down his face.

“Shut that off,” he weakly grumbles.

He goes unheard. The noise drones on. Wave after wave. Layers blurring together.

It’s the screeching of a damned woman. It’s the wash of canned applause. It’s the sobbing of an old man. It’s the sharp strike of a calliope sting. It’s the slam of Diego’s car door. It’s the clownish shouting of a black-and-white actor. It’s the wet, quivering voice of a bloodied child. It’s the taunting rattle of audience laughter. It’s the muffled sound of Ben calling out to him as he goes under. It’s the clatter of a needle against tile floor.

His head throbs.

“I said  _turn that shit off!”_ He suddenly barks.

The boil inside of him only burns on in the pause that follows.

He distantly sees the guy hold up a hand. “Hey, chill out, man...”

Klaus stands and slings his cereal bowl to the floor, cracking it apart. The crash just barely cuts through the cacophony roaring in his ears.

He storms out before he can be confronted, followed only by the cheerful actors’ bantering onscreen.

_ “Very well. Just consider yourself lucky that you are not at this moment an artichoke...” _

...

...

...

_ The following program is brought to you in part by Apocalypse Sweets: The last great confectionary store on earth. Try our new Extraordinary English Toffee! _

...

...

...

_ Back from commercial in 5... 4... 3... 2... _

Lights-up on a colorless kitchen, cluttered with bowls and trays and utensils. Klaus, done up in a Sunday Best dress shirt and uncharacteristically-neat hair, tightens his apron before starting up a stand mixer. Behind him, in similar looks, is Dave, mixing a concoction and hurrying across the room to get a glance at the clock.

“We still have an hour,” he reports. “Don’t panic.”

“I’m not the one who cracked an egg just by holding it too hard,” Klaus fires back, turning the mixer off. 

The back door swings open without a knock, and in saunters Lila, their closest neighbor. “Salutations!” She sing-songs.

She’s been a good friend since they moved in, if not on the ditzy side. She’s tripped and fallen into the abyss of hippie fashions. Her short-chopped hair is voluminous and untamed, and she wears a thick tangle of necklaces and chunky pendants over a loud floral dress. 

“Oh, busy in the kitchen today, are we?” She asks. She sets a hand on her hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dave finishes adding one mixture to another and looks up at her. “Wouldn’t you have just barged in anyway?”

“Well, yeah," Lila answers. "But it’s rude to not give a girl a warning.” 

Dave shakes his head and returns to his task. Lila finds some free space on a counter and hops up to sit on it. “So!” She says, kicking out her boots like a kid on a swing. “What’s all this for?”

“The Lakeshore Hills Biannual Bake-Off,” Klaus answers, furiously whisking. “Apparently, it’s one of the biggest non-events in the neighborhood.”

“Winning first prize would make a heck of a first impression,” Dave adds. He floats over to Klaus’s side to steal the sloppily-torn-open bag of confectioner sugar. “We’re still new here. We have to establish ourselves.”

“Yes, we have such a _desperate need_ to be liked,” Klaus whines playfully, wilting against Dave. “A chance like this only comes twice a year.”

“Or once every two years,” Dave amends. 

Klaus stands straight again. “Or once every two years,” he repeats in agreement. “They really oughta specify the meaning of ‘biannual’ someday.”

“I see,” Lila says. “Quite the power play, preparing barbecue for a dessert competition.”

“We’re not,” Dave responds, puzzled. 

“Oh?” Lila scrunches her nose. “What’s that smoky smell, then?”

Klaus turns in a flash. The oven that they’d neglected to set a timer for is now steadily seeping dark smoke into the air. “Christmas on a cracker,” he groans, throwing on a pair of mitts and slamming the oven door open. The three cough and swat at the next cloud of smoke that blows through the room. On the cooking sheet inside, only blackened crumbles of dough remain.

“There goes Mama Katz’s world-famous rugelach,” Dave mutters solemnly. 

Lila finds a funnel next to her, holds it to her lips like a trumpet, and toots out an especially sorrowful rendition of Taps.

“Good thing we already started the Plan B recipe,” Klaus says, removing the tray and emptying it into the garbage.

Dave leans back against the counter in defeat. “The emergency brownies aren’t gonna win any blue ribbons,” He admits.

“On the contrary!” Lila pipes up. “Word on the street is participation is quite light this time around. All you really have to do is beat out Mrs. Popova.”

Klaus squints at her. “Mrs. Popova? The crazy babushka on the corner?”

“I think I saw her on her front porch yesterday, arguing with a squirrel,” Dave adds.

“But her cakes have a proper winning streak,” Lila says. A wicked smile spreads onto her face. “You dethrone her, and you’ll be running this town in no time.”

Klaus flattens both hands on the counter and leans into her. “What’s the play, Pitts?”

“In about eight minutes, she’s bound to come hobbling over to my place for a cup of sugar, just like always,” Lila explains. “If I were to _‘accidentally’_ slip her some salt instead, I‘m afraid the old lady’s senses would be too dull to notice the difference.”

“Why exactly would you do that for us?” Dave questions.

“I rather like you two. And I’d like to see this place get shaken up.” She shrugs. “It’s been quite dead for a while now.”

There’s a quiet beat of consideration. In near-perfect sync, Dave and Klaus turn in towards each other to deliberate.

“This is unethical,” Klaus states.

“Oh, for sure,” Dave agrees. “It’s downright diabolical.”

“This isn’t something good neighbors necessarily do,” Klaus continues.

“Terrible neighbors do this,” Dave says. “Desperate, conniving, overly-competitive neighbors.” He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “But you know what the _best_ neighbors do?”

“What?”

“Bring the best platter to the biannual bake-off.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

Klaus whirls around to face Lila, catching her stealing a spoonful of chocolate icing from its bowl. She quickly drops the spoon into the sink and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“Go get the woman her salt,” he says.

Lila grins madly. She hops off of the counter, stands upright, and offers him a rigid salute. “Sir, yes, sir!” She declares, shooting Klaus a wink before marching outside.

When the door shuts behind her, Dave sighs. “She’s a handful and a half.”

“You’re telling me.” Klaus looks skeptically at the bowl he was previously whisking. “How many eggs did I put in here?”

“See? This is what happens when you don’t want to follow a recipe,” Dave says. “You said that you work best when you ‘wing it’.”

“And I do!” Klaus protests indignantly. He picks up a loose towel and wipes off his hands. 

Then, he steps away from the messy counters, closing his fists. They begin to softly glow. “Unrelated,” he says, “Do you think Charles Joughin might be available to offer a few culinary tips?” 


	3. Retcon

Orange has never been his color, Klaus reflects bitterly, lounging back on his thin and rusty cot. It’s even worse that this jumpsuit in particular fits his lanky figure like a trash bag over a broomstick. He knows he can make all of the world’s most offensive fashions work for him. But the prisoner uniforms at his local correctional facility? Talk about  _criminal._

“Being caught with contraband is gonna cost you the Good Behavior points that got you that TV.”

Klaus finishes lighting his cigarette and glances over to the front of his cell. Ben stands on the outside looking in, holding onto the long metal bars. 

Klaus smiles. “Actually, Benjamin,” he replies, “The warden himself gave me these. In exchange for some Exceptionally Good Behavior.” He pointedly brings the cigarette back to his lips for a long drag.

“You’re kidding.”

Klaus exhales, holding up his hands in defense. “Don’t be mad at me because the system is jacked up. Be proud of me because I know how to jack it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ben sighs.

“Now, are you just gonna stand there bitching at me all night?” Klaus asks. “Or are you gonna sit down for some good-old-fashioned family TV time?”

“When have we _ever_ done that?”

Klaus puffs out a little laugh. It’s almost a dumb question. Through all their years of screwed-up childhood, couch-surfing, bed-surfing, shelters, hospitals, blackouts... 

“When have we ever had the chance?” He counters.

Ben doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. The last few weeks of Klaus’s life have been filled with so much chaos and so many new lows. As pathetic as it sounds, the safety and stability of a jail cell comes as somewhat of a relief to them.

After a pause, he lets go of the bars and passes straight through them.

“What’s on?” He asks.

“Hell if I know.” Klaus digs around the bedsheet for the remote. “Hang on.” He quickly finds it and begins flipping through channels. 

As Ben approaches, Klaus scoots over to one side of the bed, giving him the space that he doesn’t really need but always makes him feel more comfortable anyway.  Ben perches in the new spot. Klaus tentatively settles on a flashy retro opening theme. 

_ “...’Til the one day when the lady met this fellow _

_ And they knew it was much more than a hunch, _

_ That this group would somehow form a family _

_ That's the way we all became the Brady Bunch.” _

“Well, this is just unrealistic,” Klaus comments. He doesn’t really have to, but it’d be nice to get his brother actually talking to him.

Fortunately, Ben takes the offer. “What? Six kids in one house?”

“Six kids living  _happily_ in one house,” he clarifies before taking another drag.

“Wait til Season Three,” Ben says. “I hear Jan gets disemboweled from the inside out by an inter-dimensional squid monster.”

A laugh falls out of Klaus, high and melodic and stupid, accompanied by a cloud of smoke. He knows it isn’t that funny - he simply delights in the way it surprised him. 

The warm response makes Ben finally crack a smile. He leans back and settles into his seat for a calm, wonderfully uneventful half hour.

...

...

...

_ "The following program is brought to you in part by Commission Coffee! Turn back the clock and take back your morning! New packaging, same killer taste!" _

...

...

...

_ Back from commercial in 5... 4... 3... 2... _

Lights-up on a colorful, decoratively-cluttered living room, with walls of stone and abstract art and wooden paneling. Klaus descends from the wide staircase, the flare of his pants and shoulder-length of his hair catching wind in his haste.

“Elliot better hurry back,” he says as he lands. “I have an appointment at five.”

He finds Dave sitting on the couch. He's holding a skinny, black-and-grey tabby kitten against his shoulder, like an infant being burped. The kitten is dozing off, nuzzling happily against the sideburns that Dave is trying to grow out, God bless him.

“He’s just gonna ask for any reports of missing cats as soon as he wraps up his HOA complaints,” Dave reminds him. “No one’s called about the Found posters yet?”

“Nope,” Klaus replies. His hands come up to his hips. “But something tells me you don’t want them to.” 

“She’s followed me home twice,” Dave defends, stroking down the kitten's back. “Don’t you think that means something? Maybe we were meant to be together.”

“Or maybe you still smelled like the tuna sandwich you had for lunch.”

Dave laughs and gestures him closer. “Klaus, come on. Hear how loud she’s purring right now.”

Reluctantly, Klaus comes behind the couch to address the kitten face-to-face. “Every plant that has entered this house has suffered a tortuous death,” he mumbles. “So I don’t know why you think we should...”

Klaus trails off when he crouches to her level and sees her tiny, adorable face. She has a purr like the rumble of a motorboat. Her pupils are wide and inquisitive.

“Oh,” Klaus says quietly. “Hi.” 

He holds up his HELLO hand in greeting. The kitten stares at it for a moment, blankly. Then, she stretches out her teeny-tiny paw and presses it against his palm. Klaus melts all at once.

“Oh my gosh,” he practically sobs. “Dave.”

“What?”

“She has your eyes.”

The front door swings open, and in steps Elliot, all tucked-in and neurotic as ever. 

“I’ve got some bad news, fellas,” he announces.

Dave and Klaus straighten up. The kitten wiggles down from Dave’s shoulder to sit on the couch beside him. “What is it?” Dave asks.

“Apparently, Oscar’s property line runs six inches left of the mailbox,” Elliot laments. “Which is ridiculous. It’s _my_ mailbox! I’ve got _my_ name on it! Why shouldn’t I have the yard space?” He walks further into the room, caught up in his temper. “Now, I’ve got to move _all of my petunias_ over three inches, which is gonna take half a day, _at least...”_

“Elliot, sweetie,” Klaus cuts in. “What about the cat?”

Elliot immediately calms. “Oh. Right. So, there haven't been missing cats in Lakeshore for weeks.” He points to the couch. “That you’ve got there is just a friendly little stray.”

“That so?” Dave asks, exchanging a look with Klaus.

"If you want, I can take her off your hands.” Elliot bends and scoops the kitten up off the couch. He holds her securely to his chest. “I’ll drive her down to the shelter, and we can get her a nice new home.”

Against his better judgement, Klaus surges forward a step. “Wait.”

Elliot freezes. “Yeah?”

Klaus hesitates. Then, he looks into the kitten's big shiny eyes again, sweet and clueless and innocent, and he's trapped. 

“...I wouldn’t mind keeping her here for a while,” he says, slowly. “Just to see how it goes.” He glances down at Dave. “Would you?”

Dave stands, smiling a bit. “Not at all, actually.”

“You sure?" Elliot questions. "She's hardly more than a baby. Might be a hassle."

"Nothing we can't handle," Dave quickly answers. 

"I just don't think I can let go of her quite yet," Klaus admits. He holds out his hands. "C'mon. Pass her back to Papa."

Elliot gingerly transfers the kitten into his grasp. The feeling is strange. Klaus struggles to hold her properly. Eventually, he gets her into a halfway-correct position, with her cold pink nose pressed into his arm.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Dave assures him, smoothing over the top of her head. “Thanks, Elliot.”

“Welp,” Elliot starts, wiping the fur from his shirt, “I should get going. A college buddy of mine is back home from the army. We’re going out on the town!” He strikes an awkward but brazen disco pose.

“A bona fide vet, huh?” Dave asks. “You should bring him over sometime. I was in the army, too.”

Klaus laughs and shakes his head. “Dave, _what_ are you talking about?”

Dave furrows his brow. Squints.

“...I was,” he says with little certainty. 

Elliot simply stares at him. 

Dave drops his gaze to the floor, searching for his words. “I don’t...” He glances over at Klaus, looking suddenly lost.  “Don’t you remember?”

Klaus scoffs.  _“'Remember'_ what?”  He leans in close to him, bumping their shoulders in jest. “Was it _the_ _Alamo_ that you fought in?”

“I’m serious,” Dave presses. “When was I in Vie

“Welp,” Elliot starts, wiping the fur from his shirt, “I should get going. A college buddy of mine is back home from a business trip. We’re going out on the town!” He strikes an awkward but brazen disco pose.

“Cut a rug for us, Ellie,” Klaus says.

“Try not to go too crazy, okay?” Dave jokes.

“You sound like my ex-wife,” Elliot cheerfully quips as he exits.

The front door closes. Klaus returns to the couch and sets the kitten down again. Dave follows.

“If we’re gonna keep this rascal,” he says, “We’re gonna need a name.”

Klaus tilts his head at her, appraising. “She looks like a... Mindy.”

“That’s too pedestrian.” Dave holds out his hand, and she eagerly rubs her cheek against it. “Myrtle?”

“That’s a mom name,” Klaus states, as if it’s an obvious fact. “She’s not an old maid yet.”

Dave thinks on that for a bit. He watches her peer curiously around the room.

“I think I like Mamie,” he says after a while. 

“Oh? Our elegant little Lady Eisenhower?”

“If we’re gonna go Presidential, ‘Jackie’ would just be too sad,” Dave reasons. He brings his face close to the cat’s and scratches underneath her chin. “Do you like ‘Mamie’, pretty baby?” He murmurs lovingly.

“I do,” Klaus answers.

Dave glares up at him. “I was talking to the cat.”

“No, you couldn’t have been,” Klaus rebuts. “Cats can’t talk.”

“Fine.” Dave brings his hand up to Klaus’s face instead. “How do you like it, pretty baby?”

“It’s perfect. Spot-on. Ten out of ten,” Klaus rambles. “Awe-inspiring. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“See, now I wish  _you_ couldn’t talk,” Dave teases.

“You can do something about that, y’know,” Klaus says.

Dave leans in and catches him in a soft kiss. Klaus can’t help but smile against his lips as he presses back.

They’re interrupted by a bright mewl of protest. Mamie softly head-butts against Dave for attention. He pulls away. 

“We don’t have any cat food,” he realizes aloud. “Or litter. Or... anything.”

“Right,” Klaus says. He steals a glimpse at the clock. “Could you go get some stuff? I have to get ready for my five o’clock.”

“Wait... it’s Saturday,” Dave remembers, petting behind Mamie’s ear. “Don’t you take weekends off?”

“It’s Lila,” Klaus explains. “The calendar doesn’t apply to her.”

“Good point,” Dave sighs. “I’ll be back at six, then.” He pulls Mamie out of his lap and goes to get his jacket. He throws it on and sweeps back over to the couch, placing a light peck on Klaus’s cheek. 

“Love you,” he calls as he heads out the door. 

“Love you.”

When the door shuts, Klaus heads for the coat closet. There, his tablecloth, his psychic garb, and his electric candles are all neatly arranged. Even though Lila’s a friend, she’d asked for the “full experience”, one-on-one. He just gets his hands on a roll of silky fabric when he hears the back door slam open and shut. 

“I’m prepared to encounter the supernatural!” An accented voice proclaims. 

The kitchen door flies open, and Lila enters. Her sense of style has spiraled just off-center of the current trends, with platform boots, a psychedelically-swirled pattern on her buttoned blouse, and the same tangle of mismatched jewelry around her neck. She holds her arms out. “Take me away, magic man!”

“Well, aren’t you early?” Klaus asks, uneasy. But he figures that clocks are simply another mechanism with no control over her life. He takes his tablecloth and garments into the middle of the room. “You just missed Dave.”

“Shame,” Lila replies, breezing over it without real commentary. “Anywho! I’d like to see if you could give my mother a ring.” She plops herself down on the couch. “Only Daughter, you know. Big-time Mummy Issues.”

“I’ll see if she’s around,” Klaus agrees, tugging on a shawl.

Lila gasps when she sees the kitten on the floor, brushing up against her red boots. “Goodness! Who’s this?”

Klaus clears a small stack of books off the coffee table. “Her name is Mamie.”

“Such a lovely name!” Lila says. She leans forward to pet Mamie’s head. “Hi, girly-girl,” she coos.

Klaus lays down the tablecloth. He looks at Lila, who’s engrossed in making babytalk noises to the cat. The way she’s bent over, her necklaces dangle directly down from her neck, with strands of metal catching the light.

He eyes the dull glint of stainless steel.

“What’s that you’re wearing, Lila?” Klaus asks carefully, standing upright.

Lila grins at him. She indicates her jewelry. “These?” 

She stands and starts to finger through her various necklaces. A small engraved plate. “This is the symbol for ‘peace’ in Kanji...” A colorful pendant. “This is my birth month flower...” A string of wooden beads around her wrist. “This one’s from my boyfriend, cheesy dope he is...” A long leather strand that dangles down her chest. “This one’s from a music festival, be sure to not tell Mum about _that one....”_

Klaus steps close to her and lifts one chain above the rest. Lila drops her arms, silently letting him. 

He finds a set of dog tags at the end of it. He feels its undeniable weight in his palm. He twists it around to read the identification.

KATZ, DAVID J.

He suddenly grows pale.

“You like those?” Lila asks. 

Klaus meets her expectant eyes. She dares to smirk. “They belonged to a friend,” she says.

Klaus drops the tags and backs away. His expression is still slack in shock. 

“You should leave,” he manages to say evenly.

Lila’s flaky facade drops in an instant. “Not going to happen.”

“You’re not dead,” he murmurs. It’s more of a delayed realization than an argument.

“I’m precisely as dead as you are.” She stands her ground. “I don’t think you know what kind of mess this all has caused. I need to talk to you.”

Klaus huffs out a dry laugh. “No you don’t,” he wheezes. He wags a finger towards her. “You need to get out.”

“It’s not what you think. I’m with your family.”

“Can’t you hear me?” Klaus questions. His whole body starts to clench. In anxiety. In fury. He turns away from Lila and paces in the other direction. “I’m not listening to you.”

“But it’s true,” Lila promises. “I can prove it to you, but you have to come out of here.”

“You know what the funny thing is?” Klaus shoots back, head shaking in a slightly manic way. He throws up his hands with a merry gesture. “I don’t care! I couldn’t give a _single_ _ shit _ whether or not you’re lying.”

“Oh, God damn it, Klaus,” Lila bites. “We want to help you.”

All of Klaus’s humor drains out onto the floor, like dark blood seeping from a fatal wound. A low hum rises in the air.

When he twists back around to face her, his irises are bright blue. His hands steadily start to glow with the same electrified hue. 

“Then leave me alone,” he snarls. 

He brings up his palm, holding out a blinding signal of GOOD BYE.

...

...

...

With a deafening crack and overwhelming flood of light, Lila’s hands are blown off the top surface of the television set. The shock overtakes her entire being like a bolt of thunder, and the next thing she knows, she’s falling backwards. 

“Lila!”

She can hardly see and hardly hear. All she feels is someone running across the room and collapsing to the crusty carpet floor just in time to catch her.

“Holy shit,” Diego pants. He holds her tightly, threading his arms under hers. “Lila. Lila, are you with me? C’mon. Talk to me.”

Lila groans in pain. She wriggles in Diego’s grasp. “Bratty, overdramatic, son of a bitch,” she mutters spitefully.

“Who? Klaus?” Diego asks.

Lila weakly shakes her head. “Both of you,” she whimpers. Then, she ceases moving completely, blacking out.

Diego doesn’t let her go. He looks around the motel room. The curtains block the windows and the lamps are dimmed, in order to draw as little attention from the outside as possible. He glances to the old foot-deep television she’d been zapped off of, where credits and vibrant music are rolling on. His eyes trail down the intricate wiring they’ve affixed to it. 

Attached on the other end, with the forehead sensor Five had been able to steal from Reginald’s office, is Klaus. He lays atop a made twin bed, in the same sickly, cold-skinned, perfect stillness he’s been in for days. 

Luther, the only other witness, stands up from the armchair across from them. “Should I call the others?” He asks.

Diego nods, worriedly stroking Lila’s hair. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “We need a new plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies to anyone who was expecting mpreg


End file.
